Selene Mira wasn't sure what was worse—being attacked by a flaming grandpa or being so broke that she considered selling one of her slippers for soup.
She sat on the edge of a fountain in a quieter corner of Iskandaria, hugging her knees and ignoring the curious glances from passersby.
The silence in her stomach growled. Loudly.
[Current Balance: 1 Coin]
[Status: Hungry. Morale: Drifting toward self-pity.]
She groaned and muttered to herself. "I got a whole new world… and not even a starter kit? What kind of customer service is this?"
The system dinged cheerfully.
[Shop Suggestion: Budget Meals → Category: Street Food]
She checked. One skewer of grilled beast meat cost 2 coins. She had 1.
She closed the window. "Even the food is out of reach. Brilliant."
Lio found her soon after, carrying a paper-wrapped sandwich in one hand and an apologetic smile in the other.
"You alright?" he asked, handing it over without a word.
Selene stared at the sandwich, unsure if this counted as divine intervention.
"…You didn't poison this, right?"
"Nope," Lio said. "But if you don't eat it, I might take it back."
She took a bite. Her eyes closed.
> [Status Effect Removed: Hunger. New Buff Applied: Renewed Will to Live +1]
They walked together in silence.
Eventually, Lio pointed to a narrow alley behind a half-crumbled alchemy shop.
"It's not much. But it's dry, quiet, and nobody really uses the old shed in back anymore."
Selene raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you're describing me."
When Lio unlocked the door and pushed it open, the reality hit her: dust, broken crates, and an actual spider doing yoga in the corner.
Selene coughed. "This looks like the home of someone who's been exiled twice."
Lio shrugged. "It's all I've got. You can sleep here if you need to."
She hesitated—then stepped inside.
The space was sad. But familiar, in a way. Like every under-budget studio apartment she'd ever designed in her old life.
A corner of her brain sparked.
If I shift the crates, stack them for height…
Add some cloth over that broken barrel… maybe a fake curtain…
She blinked.
That instinct—that design itch—was still with her.
Ding! [Passive Detected: Spatial Instinct – Triggered by Unsafe Living Conditions]
Selene let out a slow breath and whispered, "Looks like we're not dying today."
That night, she didn't sleep. Not from fear—though, yes, a little.
But mostly because her brain wouldn't shut off.
She sat cross-legged in the dusty corner, sketching with a borrowed piece of charcoal on wood scraps.
Ideas. Layouts. Vertical storage. Mood lighting (if magical glowstones were affordable).
A tiny haven in the chaos.
She wasn't trying to go viral. She was just… trying to survive.
But something inside her shifted.
And the next morning, when she arranged a few crates, tore a curtain to hang for privacy, and reimagined the broken tools into a makeshift desk…
It wasn't much.
But it was hers.